Stay With Me At The End Of Days
by theatregrl02
Summary: When a strange infection begins to sweep across the country Kurt, Blaine, and the New Directions must fight for their survival. M for language and violence. Warning: Character death.
1. Chapter 1 New Directions Comes to Dalton

Chapter 1: New Directions Comes to Dalton

Everyone was afraid of 2012. That's when it was supposed to happen, that's when the Mayans and all that other hocus pocus said that the world was going to come to an end. There were theories about plates shifting, natural disasters, meteorites, even the four horsemen, but no one could have expected just what it was that brought about the end of life as everyone knew it.

It started with the plants. A random mutation in a seemingly innocuous amoeba started to kill off the plants across the US. The sudden loss of foliage was blamed on the particularly cold and harsh winter – people figured the climate was acting so strange that it only made sense for so many plants to be dying. But then it infected some smaller animals, killing a few here and there, nothing major enough to be noticed. It started to spread faster, too, with the animals transporting it across huge distances in almost no time. By the time anyone caught on it was too late. It was everywhere. By the time that thousands of birds were falling from the sky, and hundreds of fish were floating to the surface dead, it was too late. The infection quickly jumped to larger animals and the government began imposing strict guidelines for testing meat that was sold for human consumption. Scientists were working tirelessly in secret government facilities to identify the mystery disease, and attempt a cure for infection or at the very least a vaccine.

Reports on the progress of the infection were scarce, and hardly informative. In an attempt to avoid mass hysteria the public was told next to nothing. They were advised to stay away from meats without one of the new, shiny government seals, they were told to call the 1-800 numbers at the first sign of infection in the varying life forms in the community, and they were fed lines about the "hopeful" and "important" advances the scientists were making. Most importantly, the public was told that humans were in no way in danger of contracting the mystery illness. Certain areas were worse than others, of course, with big cities being the last to feel the bite. With such a small green to concrete ratio it was no surprise that cities like New York and Los Angeles were the last to be hit with the infection, though they were far from exempt.

Kurt hated having to leave his family after everything started; he wanted to be around in case anything happened, not two hours away at school. Unfortunately he had no choice. He couldn't go back to McKinley, he'd just escaped that hell. Karofsky was back and still a menace to everyone, reports from New Directions seemed to indicate that he was getting worse. So Kurt reluctantly packed his car and drove the two and a half hours back to Dalton for the start of term. Seeing Blaine was a relief of sorts, he'd been worried about him as well, and the workload and Warblers' rehearsals kept his mind busy most of the time. But late at night, or in the rare quiet moments, his mind would drift back to Lima, to his friends and his family, and guilt would swell inside him. What if something happened to them? Blaine noticed almost immediately that something was off – Kurt's clothes were far from their normal, neatly pressed state, his hair was a ruffled mess from his hand's constant travel through it, his bottom lip was swollen and red (and incredibly distracting) from the incessant chewing Kurt was giving it. He tried to help Kurt, tried to assure him that nothing was going to happen.

"The infection can't transfer to humans," Blaine reminded him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder and giving Kurt a gentle smile. Kurt looked at him, eyes dull and fraught with worry, and Blaine knew that nothing he could say would comfort his friend. He sighed quietly and nodded, partially in defeat, partially in determination, before sitting next to his friend. Blaine may not have been able to give Kurt any real comfort, but he wasn't going to leave him on his own, either. They spent as much time together as they could manage over the first few days of the semester, Blaine trying to keep Kurt's mind off of Lima and the infection, Kurt trying not to worry about his friends and instead focus on the fact that the boy he was in love with was now practically glued to his side.

About a week and a half into the semester Kurt exited his final morning class, heading to lunch, to find the entirety of New Directions in Dalton's main hall, looking panicked. Kurt's mind instantly went into over-drive. Something had to be wrong, someone was sick, or maybe his father's heart started causing trouble again. Blaine noticed Kurt's chest begin to rise and fall in rapid succession and quickly took him by the shoulders.

"Breathe, Kurt, calm down. You're hyperventilating; you need to calm down a little." He briefly removed his right hand from Kurt's shoulder in order to rifle through his messenger bag, letting out a soft, victorious "aha!" as he pulled out the brown paper bag his lunch was stored in. Blaine dumped the containers in his bag and handed it to Kurt while simultaneously leading him over to a nearby bench. The frantic members of New Directions finally noticed Kurt and Blaine and hurried over, huddling around them.

"What's going on?" Blaine asked simply. Everyone spoke at once, a dozen voices spewing a thousand words, until Blaine held up his hands to silence them. "Woah, woah, what?"

"Have you seen the news today?" Finn asked, voice shaky and scared. Kurt and Blaine looked at each other, then back to the others, shaking their heads.

"We've been in class all morning," Kurt replied quietly, lowering the brown paper bag and trying to contain himself. "Why?"

"Is there a TV in this joint?" Puck asked while searching the immediate area for any signs of a television.

"There's one in the common room, by the dorms." Finn grabbed Kurt, who grabbed Blaine, and dragged him in what he seemed to remember as the general direction of Kurt's dorm. "Guys, really, _what is going on_?" Blaine was getting slightly impatient with this dramatic display, not to mention a little worried about just what could be so important that Kurt's friends all felt it appropriate to skip school in order to drive up to Dalton. No one answered, though, they just walked in silence until they reached the surprisingly empty room. Rachel grabbed the remote, flicked on the TV, and looked back at Kurt and Blaine.

_"Those who are infected may display symptoms as soon as a few hours after initial exposure. Symptoms include vomiting, dizzy spells, bleeding sores, and pain in the extremities. Scientists currently have no treatment for this disease and people are being advised to avoid contact with anyone who may have come in contact with the infection at any point. Officials are asking people to stay in their homes until further notice, and, if travel is absolutely necessary, to only travel during the day."  
_

All the color drained from Kurt's face as the news hit him. Blaine reached over, plucked the controller from Rachel's hand and muted the TV. Though he kept his composure as best he could Blaine was obviously worried. He took Kurt's hand in his own. He wanted to comfort him, but he also wanted the contact and, at the moment, didn't really care about keeping his feelings hidden. No one said anything for a moment, though they all shifted awkwardly, making random eye contact and attempting to find the words to express what they wanted to say.

"Why did you guys drive up here? Why not just call? They said not to go outside!" Kurt finally asked. His voice was angry on the surface, but Blaine – and Finn – could tell there was a level of relief mixed in as well.

"We tried. The phones aren't working," Artie said, adjusting and re-adjusting his glasses.

"We came to get you, white boy," Mercedes added, grabbing Kurt's free hand. "C'mon, we have to get back to Lima." Just as the words left Mercedes' lips the loudspeaker overhead crackled.

_"Attention students: Due to recent events Dalton is now under a lock down. Please make your way to the dorms and remain there until further notice. We will inform you of any new reports as they come in."  
_

The group looked at each other, unsure of what to do. The McKinley glee club wasn't really supposed to be on the campus, but more importantly none of them particularly wanted to stay there. They stood there in a semi-circle around the tv set, the silence in the air tense, uncomfortable, as the rest of the Dalton students began to filter in. No one knew what to do. The prefects weren't going to just kick them out, but they really couldn't force them to stay under the lockdown either. It was entirely up to the 11 terrified teenagers what they wanted to do.

"I vote we stay," Santana said, eyeing the group of boys who'd just entered the common room.

"I am _not_ staying here, away from my family, my _home_, because you want to get laid, Santana," Quinn huffed.

"I don't think we should take any risks. We should stay right where we are until we're told we can leave," Rachel added. One by one they added their two cents and, when no clear winner was decided, broke into a bit of a squabble over just how they were going to handle this. Kurt wasn't participating in the conversation at hand. He was barely even registering it, in fact. His eyes were distant, his expression blank, and Blaine knew he was worrying about his father.

"Guys, guys," Blaine piped up, trying to get everyone's attention. "There's nothing more you can do from there than from here, why don't you stay here tonight," he glanced at the nearest prefect for approval, receiving a curt nod in reply before continuing, "and head back to Lima in the morning. There are only a few hours left of daylight and the news said it's safer to avoid being out at night, right?" The New Directions members held a quick conference with hushed but passionate voices until Finn finally spoke.

"Yeah, ok, that sounds fine." He rubbed the back of his neck nervously and looked around at the small room, trying to figure out just how this was going to work.

Blaine had slightly ulterior motives for wanting them to stay the night. He was still worried about Kurt and he would feel a lot better about everything if they were together. Not to mention he couldn't stand being away from Kurt right now, he needed that anchor, he needed to be a little selfish. He masked all of this, of course, in the argument about day light and leaving in the morning, but really he just wanted to be with Kurt a little longer.

Once they'd agreed that New Directions would stay the night everyone dispersed across the common room. Most of the Dalton kids were heading back to their individual rooms, eager to find some way to contact their families, so the McKinley kids had the room mostly to themselves. A few of them gathered around the TV, waiting for more information and any indication of what was going to happen next. Others huddled together, talking in hushed voices, calming each other's fears and reassuring themselves that they were doing the right thing. Santana was flirting with a cute boy in a Dalton uniform who'd no doubt decided to stay in the common room upon spotting Santana and her Cheerios outfit. Blaine and Kurt didn't move. Kurt remained still as a statue, frozen by fear for his father and step-mother. Blaine turned and pulled Kurt into a hug, not caring that everyone was around and anyone could see. Kurt needed the comfort and Blaine needed the contact. They embraced silently for a minute before Blaine pulled back, though remaining as close as possible.

"Thank you," Kurt said, turning his face to Blaine's. Kurt looked exhausted, completely worn out, and it broke Blaine's heart to see him hurting. Blaine smiled, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and led Kurt over to a loveseat set slightly apart from the rest of the kids in the room. "I just, I can't believe all of this is really happening," Kurt mumbled. Blaine nodded but said nothing, opting instead to rub Kurt's back in slow, gentle circles.

Time crept by slowly, seconds, minutes, hours, and the news just kept reporting the same thing. The room was generally quiet, everyone listening to the newscaster droning on about government reports and official requests, though occasionally conversation would break out here and there. When the news report began again for what might have been the hundredth time, Puck stood from where he was perched on the edge of the couch, frustration emanating from his very being.

"Fuck this, I can't stay here anymore," he stated. The others agreed in quick succession, even Santana (who'd long since lost interest in the boy she'd seen earlier). They wanted to go home. Kurt was the last to voice his opinion.

"Let's go, I can't sit here anymore." He looked from person to person, making eye contact with each before moving on. "I never thought I'd say this, but I have to get back to Lima."

"It's settled then," Rachel said, trying to take control, "c'mon, let's go." As New Directions filed out of the common room towards the main entrance, Kurt felt a light but firm hand on his wrist.

"I'm going, Blaine," he said before he'd even turned around.

"I'm coming with you."


	2. Chapter 2: On The Move

Chapter 2: On the Move

Kurt looked at Blaine as though he'd lost his mind.

"What are you talking about? You have to stay here, don't be stupid." Kurt's brow was furrowed with an odd concoction of concern and confusion, but Blaine just smiled, taking Kurt's hand in his own.

"I'm coming with you. I'm not going to let you run off without any way of letting me know that you're ok." A hot blush flashed across Kurt's face in the split second it took him to regain his control. He nodded and, hand in hand with Blaine, followed after his former schoolmates. They had to jog a bit to catch up, but they soon found the others milling around the entrance hall, trying to figure out just how they were going to get out of Dalton.

"What the hell is he doing here?" Puck asked, eyeing Blaine as he and Kurt approached.

"Look, I'm coming with you. I know my way around here pretty well, I might be able to help a little." Puck eyed Blaine suspiciously for a moment before shrugging and turning back to the large windows facing the sprawling front gardens of Dalton academy. Everything looked so calm, so…normal. Blaine wasn't sure if that made the whole situation better or worse. The topiaries were perfectly landscaped and a deep, rich green that hid the fact it was well into winter (how the gardeners managed no one quite knew). There was a quiet blanket of snow covering the crisp, frozen grass, as if the land were napping, momentarily dozed off while waiting for something or someone to come along. The drive was pitch black and smooth as ice, rolling on for an obscene distance before reaching the gates. The gates, Blaine noticed, which were very closed, very locked, and very solid looking.

"We're locked in?" Finn gasped, voicing the thought that had been kicking around everyone else's brain for the past moment or so. The group stood, shoulder to shoulder, hand in hand, whatever, facing the large, steel, blockade keeping them from where they wanted to be. And their cars, the things their whole plan revolved around, were locked _inside_ the gates. With them.

New Directions may have been dead-set on leaving Dalton, but their cars were staying put.

After a minute or two of silence, of standing and staring and feeling the crushing pressure of despair settle on them one by one, someone spoke.

"We'll walk."

Everyone turned as one to face the source of the voice and Mike Chang found himself the focal point of some very intense stares.

"We have to get back, right?" he started, trying to explain himself fast enough that the others might hear at least part of the plan before writing it off completely. "We walk until we hit that town we drove through. It wasn't _that_ far. Once we get there we can figure out a ride." Silence. Deadening, echoing, thick silence. They knew it was risky, infected could be anywhere and authorities were advising everyone to stay inside, out of the way, away from windows, with doors locked.

But.

But they had to get back to Lima somehow, and they couldn't break down the gates, so their only option seemed to be to walk. Realization hit them one by one; some with a sigh, some with a terrified, then determined look spreading, one or two with a poorly-masked sob. They were going to have to walk. Blaine, ever the outside, broke the tableau first. Untangling his hand from Kurt's, he quickly evaluated the motley group before him and turned towards the west corridor.

"Finn, Puck, Mike, and Sam, come with me, everyone else go back to the common room. We'll be back in 10 minutes." Kurt looked confused, wondering where Blaine would be leading the boys. What was he thinking? "Kurt, can you take them back there? I need you to stay with them, in case anyone needs anything." He quirked an eyebrow but nodded slowly before quietly corralling the remaining New Directions back towards the abandoned common room and the still rambling news broadcast. Blaine watched for a moment as Kurt's Dalton jacket disappeared down the corridor, not wanting to turn away just yet, before facing the boys before him. "C'mon, follow me."

One by one they shrugged and paced off after Blaine, who was practically jogging out the opposite door. His footsteps were quick and sure, right, left, right, left, almost robotic, leading him where he was going without even having to think about it too much. Which was good, really, as his mind was currently in the common room with one Kurt Hummel. After a few minutes of what must have seemed like pointless wandering Finn decided he had to speak up.

"Hey, uh, Blaine?" Blaine glanced at him as a means of inviting him to continue. "Wh-where are we going?" Puck, Mike and Sam made various sounds of agreement and turned their attentions full-force on Blaine, who couldn't be bothered to stop long enough to answer in a full sentence.

"Gym. Supplies." Well, it was an answer, but it still didn't entirely clarify things.

"Supplies?" Puck questioned, "Like, what kind of supplies?"

"Don't be stupid, Puckerman," Sam said, "like water bottles and shit, right?"

"That," Blaine said, turning the final corner before reaching the sports equipment storage locker, "and protection."

"What the hell good are condoms going to do at a time like this?" Puck asked. Finn blushed bright red at the thought of Blaine with his step-brother, but Blaine just laughed.

"_Not_ the kind of protection I meant," Blaine chuckled, opening the door and stepping inside. "I was thinking more along the lines of _those_," he said, pointing to the various sports paraphernalia – baseball bats, cricket bats, lacrosse sticks, hockey sticks, even fencing rapiers. "If we're going to walk, we're not going to walk unarmed."

"You don't have a shooting team, do you?" Puck asked. Blaine couldn't tell if he was serious, but he figured he might as well answer just to be safe.

"Unfortunately, no." He grabbed a bunch of equipment bags from a pile in the corner and passed them out. "Grab something that can be used to hit, like the bats. Maybe grab a few baseballs, too, those could come in handy. I'll get some of the Gatorades and sports bars we have hiding in here somewhere," Blaine instructed before disappearing behind a row of lockers. Sam exchanged a quick glance with the others before shrugging and grabbing for the cricket bats. The worked in silence, packing their respective bags with whatever they thought might come in handy.

"Are we ready?" Blaine popped his head back around the row of lockers behind which he'd disappeared moments earlier. Once everyone confirmed that they had everything they thought they might need the boys filed out of the equipment room one by one, in a silent single file, and returned to the entrance hall as quickly as they could manage. Blaine disappeared again for a moment, running off to fetch the others before returning. Taking control was something Blaine was good at, and he was just happy he could be helpful at the moment. Hopefully he'd proven that he was worthy to tag along for this little expedition through Ohio. He just wanted to help Kurt.

The others had been briefed by Blaine on the trek back to the entrance hall and when they were reunited once more they hesitated only a moment before Sam reached out and pulled open the door. The cold, crisp air bit at them instantly, thousands of tiny, stabbing pains coloring their cheeks, and noses, and encouraging them to turn around, turn back, retreat. But they were determined, and on they pressed. Down the grandiose front steps, along the perfectly trimmed drive way, and up to the imposing, menacing gates. The boys passed out bats and sticks, the various weapons they'd collected, and then turned their attentions to the gate that stood before them.

"They're locked," Puck said, shaking the small door that stood to one side of the massive steel frame.

"No shit, Sherlock," Santana replied, rolling her eyes, "didn't we know that, like 20 minutes ago? How are we getting out of here?" She turned to Blaine and Kurt as she asked.

"There's a code," Kurt said, stepping up to the little gatehouse and punching a five digit code into the keypad. There was a moment, then a buzz, and the door popped open. One by one they filed out, Sam in the lead, Blaine and Kurt in the rear, before closing the door behind them and setting on their way.

"There's a town if we just keep on this street for a bit, can't be more than an hour or so walking," Blaine said, squaring his shoulders and pushing forward. Kurt nodded his agreement and set off after him. The others didn't look as sure, but they weren't about to stand around waiting for someone to find them.

The walk was slow goings. They were a large group, and the road wasn't the smoothest. Artie's wheelchair kept getting stuck in rivets or ripples and needing to be forced out. Once or twice someone tripped, and a few of them ended up with skinned knees and elbows, but it was nothing they couldn't handle. What was worse than the pace was the eerie silence that seemed to have settled over Ohio in the past few hours. Nothing moved; no wind blew, no birds took off in the distance, no hidden creature shifted unseen in the grass. It was as if everything was _gone_. As if there were nothing left. And it was _quiet_. Deafeningly quiet. They tried making idle chatter at first, catching Kurt up on the latest gossip, talking about Vocal Adrenaline's newest soloist and how she was maybe-not-so-secretly-anorexic, but soon that, too, died out and they were left marching in silence, like a bad cliché from an old war movie.

The sun, Blaine couldn't help but noticed, had started it slow but certain descent into the abyss that was the horizon. They couldn't stay out after dark; it wouldn't be safe and they didn't have any provisions that might be helpful, like flares or even flashlights. He only hoped they found the town, or, really, _anything_, before it got too dark to continue.

That was the most disconcerting thing, really; the absolute lack of _anything_. There was no sign of life from anywhere around them as they walked on and on, right, left, right, left, footsteps echoing into the nothingness. The roads were deserted and none of them could remember seeing any sign of anything since leaving Dalton. Finally, after what felt like years but in reality had only been about an hour and a quarter, they reached the edges of the small town towards which they were headed.

Puck's original plan had been to reach town and steal a car or two, so they could continue on and drive the rest of the way to Lima. That, however, was not going to happen. As they walked through the town, the empty fields giving way to rows of seemingly empty houses, there was not a car in sight. So they kept walking, with no more than the occasional "pass a Gatorade" or "watch that pothole" exchanged between them.

Things were _not_ looking good.

Until. Until, about thirty minutes after hitting the edges of town, they found a Meijer. It looked abandoned, no one was around and the parking lot was empty, but the lights were on and at least one set of doors was unlocked. A rash of smiles broke out on the faces of the group as they each individually made the decision that this was somewhere they needed to stop, if only to gather more supplies. Blaine readjusted the sports bag on his shoulder before following the rest through the doors, pausing, turning, and locking the doors behind them.

"Just in case," he whispered, voice almost scratchy from the prolonged silence.

"I think we should stay here tonight," Artie said, rolling next to Blaine and looking out the doors at the ever darkening sky. "It's getting too dark to keep going, and there's food and sleeping bags and stuff here. We'll stay here tonight, and then get an early start back to Lima in the morning. I'd rather bunk indoors tonight, and it's not looking like we'll make it all the way back any time soon." Blaine nodded, as did Kurt, who met Puck's eyes. Puck, too, nodded and called out to the others, telling them the new plan.

"Grab some food, and whatever supplies we might need tomorrow, and we'll meet in the camping section. I think I saw a sign for it towards the middle of the store." Puck set his jaw, looked at Blaine, Kurt and Artie, and set off in what Kurt assumed was the direction of the grocery section. Artie rolled off after him, claiming to be looking for Brittany.

"At least we'll be relatively warm in here," Kurt said, turning to Blaine, "c'mon, let's get away from the doors. Do you think they have any designer sleeping bags?" Blaine laughed, but rolled his eyes and followed Kurt towards the camping section. It was going to be a long, interesting night.


	3. Chapter 3: Campfires

**Chapter 3: Campfires**

The group spent about 20 minutes gathering various supplies from around the store, things like snacks, drinks and even some better walking shoes (the Dalton dress code appropriate shoes may be stylish, but they sure as hell weren't comfortable. Nor were Tina's boots.), before they all gathered in the camping section. They stood there, awkwardly, looking from one to the other, no one saying a thing, not quite sure just what they were supposed to be doing. This was new territory for all of them.

"Ok. Um, we should round up some sleeping bags, right?" Tina said, looking at each of her companions in turn. "There are a bunch in the next aisle over, I think." She added, voice slightly stronger, surer, than her first utterance.

"Yeah, I'll go grab a bunch," Finn said, nodding at Sam, silently asking him to come along – more hands and whatnot. "We'll be back in a sec."

"I think I saw a hot plate down here somewhere, did anyone find anything we can scratch together into a semi-decent meal?" Quinn walked a few feet from the group towards where she thought the hot plates had been. Puck crossed the gap, carrying a basket full of various grocery items in each hand.

"Yeah, I think I got some stuff. We can make it work." Quinn smiled and took one of the baskets before pulling a camping cooker from the shelf. It continued like this for a while, people slowly working to set up some kind of make-shift camp. When Finn and Sam came back, arms full of sleeping bags in every color, they dropped them in the opening between the aisles and spread them in a tight circle with Quinn and Puck's makeshift kitchen in the middle.

"Where're you going?" Blaine asked, seeing Kurt heading off away from the group alone.

"I want to find a radio; I want an update on how things are going." Kurt didn't need to say he was worried, he didn't need to say that he wanted to hear that everything in Lima was OK, he didn't even need to say that he was terrified that they'd never make it, or that they'd be too late. He didn't need to say it, because Blaine could read it in his face; the worry lines crossing his brow, the glimmer of fear in his eyes, the way he couldn't stop fidgeting. Blaine nodded, and followed.

"We shouldn't go off alone, even in here." Kurt didn't need the explanation. In truth he was happy to have Blaine along with him.

Meanwhile, Quinn and Puck had managed to get a decent meal going, while the others straightened out the sleeping bags and then sat together, talking and laughing. The reason behind their current situation was temporarily forgotten and they relished the time together. Impromptu songs broke out now a then, a verse or two at a time before they dissolved into laughter, or discussion, or another song.

"They seem to be getting pretty close," Rachel noted, gesturing towards Blaine and Kurt. Mercedes nodded.

"Blaine makes him happy," she shrugged, "personally I think it's about time that homeboy found someone."

And with that, the conversation was dropped, as Rachel picked up the harmony to whatever song Finn was singing.

Kurt and Blaine returned a few minutes later, radio in hand, to find Artie and Brittany passing around portions of mac'n'cheese and hot dogs. Kurt smiled to himself at the image before him. Sometimes New Directions really did feel like a big, crazy, weird family. _If I have to be going through this_, Kurt thought_, I'm glad it's with them_. Blaine looked between Kurt and his friends. The subtle smile and newly-relaxed look told him everything he needed to know; Kurt missed McKinley. Despite Karofsky, and the Journey songs, and how much he loved being a Warbler, there was no denying the connection he had with the hodgepodge of characters that made up the McKinley High glee club. Blaine scratched the back of his neck absentmindedly, wondering if it had been a good idea to tag alone, wondering if he wasn't venturing into a world where he just didn't belong.

They ate together as the laughter and joking continued. An outsider would have no idea what the group had been through, or what they were heading towards. They were, for now, happy and at ease. When they'd finished dinner Kurt turned the radio on and began scanning for the news, for any update about the virus or about Lima. For anything, really.

It took a few minutes but finally he found what he was searching for. As the radio crackled out a broadcast the clamor from the group died down; they all wanted an update.

_New reports are coming in that this virus is worse than originally suspected. Those infected have been reported to attack people, attempting to bite them and…and eat their flesh. The government, though denying any and all reports of these zombie-like symptoms, are urging everyone to stay in their homes, doors and windows locked, until the situation is dealt with. The infection seems to be spread by biting, as well as any blood contact. There is no sign of the rate of infection slowing down. _

In an instant the mood of the group changed. The short-lived frivolity had been replaced with a tension and fear that was palpable. No one spoke as the news report switched to some other, irrelevant story. They sat there, looking at each other, trying to find the words to say, trying to process and understand the information they'd just received. There were zombies. In Ohio.

"That's gotta be bullshit," Puck finally said. "I mean, I love me a good zombie movie, but there's no way that shit is real."

"And the government is denying it," Finn added.

"That just makes it more likely to be real," Quinn sighed.

"Have you ever heard of a government _encouraging_ zombie rumors?" Sam asked.

"Well, whatever, I still don't buy it," Puck retorted.

"We'll see how you feel when one of them is gnawing on your leg, then, Puckerman," Santana said with a sarcastic smile.

"Guys, guys, _relax,"_ Rachel said. "We're locked inside, we're together, we'll be fine. We'll be OK." It was obvious she only half believed what she was saying.

"In the morning we can re-assess the situation," Blaine added. "I think we should get some sleep. We want to get as early a start as possible tomorrow." Kurt piped up in agreement and they all decided that it was for the best. Kurt grabbed a flashlight from the collected supplies and walked off towards the front of the store, Blaine once more following after.

"I'm gonna turn off the lights, don't want to let anyone know that we're here. Just in case." Blaine nodded and they walked off towards the entrance of the store in silence. As they walked they began hearing the soft pattering of rain on the roof of the store. The sound grew louder as they reached the front and the big display windows. It was pitch black out by now and the glass acted like a mirror, reflecting Kurt and Blaine back at the boys. The rain splashed against the glass breaking the picture here and there and Kurt turned from the windows towards the door where a row of light switches sat. Blaine reached over and took the flashlight from Kurt, flicking it on as Kurt switched off the lights.

The store was instantly plunged in darkness, save a soft glow coming from somewhere off in the back, where the New Directions had set up their lanterns and camplights.

"Everything's going to be alright, Kurt," Blaine said, taking his hand and gently leading him through the dark towards their friends. "I'm sure everything will be fine. You'll see." He was glad it was dark because the confidence in his voice was not reflected in his face. Kurt, of course, didn't need to see his face to know he was just placating, that he, too, was terrified. But he said nothing, opting instead to let Blaine lead him.

When they returned to the others most of them were in their sleeping bags, attempting to get some rest, but Puck and Mike were collecting the supplies into a few easy-to-grab bags "just in case." They said nothing as Blaine and Kurt approached, hand in hand, though each duo nodded their acknowledgement of the other.

It was nearly midnight before they were all asleep, the rain sounding loudly on the roof of the store now, it's sound magnified by the empty space below. The small camping lantern in the middle of the circle of sleeping backs was the only light anywhere around. No one slept particularly well, though they felt safe enough in the center of the store. It looked as though, for now, everything would be alright.

But looks can be deceiving.

At 4:30 Mercedes was awoken by the sound of breaking glass off in the distance. She quickly roused the others as she heard more glass breaking – a lot of it.

"Guys! Guys _get up!_" Another crash in the direction of the front door and they were all fully awake.

"What is it?" Tina asked

"I think –" Finn started

"It can't be," Puck added.

"It is," Blaine said, looking past them in to the darkness. There was a flash of lightening outside and the store was momentarily illuminated.

"What do we do?" Rachel asked, panicking slightly.

Another flash. In the brief moment of light Kurt was sure he saw the distinct outline of people. People who were walking straight towards them.

"We need to get out of here," he said, reaching for the pre-packed supply bags and grabbing one, slipping it on his shoulder. He headed towards the back of the store, walking slowly, trying to be as quiet as possible so as to avoid detection. The others followed suit, Mike and Puck helping Artie into his wheelchair, as they began hearing sounds coming from the darkness around them. Another flash of lightening and they realized just how close the Infected had gotten. Someone accidentally knocked into a display in the darkness, sending it crashing to the ground. That's when the Infected started to close in on them.

"RUN!" Quinn yelled, taking off down the aisle towards the exit sign in the distance. They started running, with Artie rolling his wheelchair as fast as he could, and the Infected started chasing. Finn looked back, seeing Artie falling behind. He looked further and saw the Infected getting closer. He turned back.

"C'mon, man, you're never going to be able to out run them ," and with that Finn picked Artie up out of his wheelchair and got Artie on his back, running after the rest of the group.

"Thanks," Artie said quietly, relief emanating from his very being.

Brittany was the first to reach the door and she pushed it open, running into the storm and stopping short – she had no idea where to go.

"Just….just….keep going, that way," Mercedes said, pointing in the general direction they'd been heading before. Kurt grabbed a shopping cart that had been abandoned in the parking lot and threw his pack in.

"Finn!" he called, "let's get Artie in the cart – sorry Artie – it'll be easier than trying to carry him all the way," Finn and Artie agreed and the three boys quickly worked to get Artie into the carriage before catching up with the others.

"Good idea," Artie said, "I'm so sorry Finn, thank you." Finn shrugged him off, letting him know it was no big deal, as they continued down the dark country road.

The sun wasn't up yet and there were very few lights around. The rain was still pounding down and in minutes everyone was soaked to the bone. The flashlights they each held cast very little light around them, with Artie holding the lantern at the front of the shopping cart.

"We should get indoors until the sun comes up, or at least into some sort of shelter," Santana said, looking around desperately trying to find _anything_ in the blackness.

It was going to be a very long day.


	4. Chapter 4: Regrouping

**Chapter 4: Regrouping**

The rain just kept pounding down, the occasional flash of lightening let the group know they were headed in the right general direction. But the main road they'd been following quickly turned from open farmland into bendy, hilly, wooded back roads. The darkness seemed to close around them as they picked up the pace, desperate to find some sort of shelter. The rain rustled the trees, causing everyone to jump from time to time in fear – fear that somehow they'd been followed, fear that somewhere in the darkness was a group of Infected, hunting them.

Occasionally they'd lose sight of one another for a minute; someone would go around a bend or fall just far enough behind that they couldn't be seen, someone else would realize, there would be a moment of panic followed by intense relief when the missing person was found. Sometimes these disappearances would coincide with the rain rustling the foliage and then the group would _really_ panic. They would call out for their missing compatriot until they'd been recovered.

After what felt like ages but was really just over 45 minutes they emerged from the wooded road into a clearing with what appeared to be a high school.

"This'll work for now, just until the sun comes up," Finn said, leading them towards the front doors of the building. The doors were locked, which they kind of expected, but Puck found a nearby rock and lodged it through a window. It went crashing through, granting them access to the building. He smirked, leaned through the broken window to unlock the door, and entered the building.

"Let's hang out here until it lightens up a bit, hopefully it'll stop raining soon, and then we can try to make some more progress today. We _have_ to get back to Lima." Kurt looked from person to person, trying to convey just how eager he was to get home without actually having to say it. Blaine pulled him into a side-hug and, rubbing his shoulder in a comforting manner, pulled him deeper into the school.

They walked as a group through the empty halls, their steps echoing eerily. The school, unfamiliar to all of them, was spooky and too-quiet. There was no hustle, no clanging of lockers or scuffing of sneakers running through the halls. They knew, of course, that no one would be around, but that didn't keep it from being creepy. Slowly they made their way through the maze of alien passages until they found the cafeteria. Mike pushed open the double doors, felt around on the wall until he found a light switch, which he flicked on, and they entered. Once in the room they spread out a bit, splitting into twos and threes.

Finn and Rachel made their way to the far corner of the room where Rachel stood, staring out the window at the rain and nothingness and her faint reflection on the mirror-like glass. Finn wrapped his arms around her from behind and pulled her close, resting his chin on her head.

"Everything'll be alright, Rachel," he said, voice soft. She nodded against him.

"I know," she whispered, "I know, but I'm scared, Finn. I'm scared for us, and for our families, and our _friends_. Why didn't we just stay in Lima?" Finn's face hardened slightly as he pulled back and looked at Rachel.

"Because he's our friend, too, Rachel. Because he's my brother." Rachel didn't answer. She crossed her arms and pouted slightly. Finn sighed, he knew she was just being dramatic, and pulled her into another hug.

Mercedes, Quinn, and Sam, meanwhile, parked themselves in the very middle of the massive room. They sat at one of the tables. Or rather, Sam and Quinn were on either side, with Mercedes sitting on top of the relatively small table, square in the middle.

"I hate just _sitting_ here," Mercedes groaned. "I feel like we should be _doing_ something."

"What are we supposed to do? It's dark and it's raining, there's no way it's safe to try and go any farther yet. And I don't know about you but I couldn't sleep if I wanted to right now. Not after what just happened," Quinn retorted. Sam groaned his consent but didn't say much.

"I know, I know, but just _sitting_ here is driving me nuts! I feel like a god damn sitting duck!"

"Hey, it's ok," Quinn said, picking up on the undertones of fear that Mercedes was clearly attempting to bury under her anger. "If we can survive Coach Sylvester we can survive a few measly zombie things." Mercedes laughed. Sam grunted his laughter.

"Are you ok, white boy?" Sam nodded. Mercedes gave him a "boy you best not be lying to me" glare, but said nothing. Quinn silently reached across the table and slid her hand into his.

"We'll be okay, Sam," she smiled. He looked at her, eyes filled with something she couldn't quite place – sadness, maybe, and tiny hints of fear. She turned to Mercedes, exchanging a silent "what the hell is up with _him_?" look before returning her focus to Sam. He didn't notice.

Across the room Puck and Artie sat, with Santana and Brittany nearby. Puck held a baseball bat while Artie had a lacrosse stick. The gun they'd managed to snag from the Meijer sat not far away, but neither wanted to be the one to be responsible for it. They'd taken up camp by the doors, standing guard. Artie didn't have to say it, but Puck knew that he'd chosen this spot because he felt guilty about slowing the group down. Artie wanted to do what he could for the group and, while he couldn't run (or even travel on his own) he _could_ stand watch, he could go down in a blaze of glory if he had to.

Brittany and Santana were sitting at a table right by the door, hands clasped, leaning into each other. Brittany's head lay on Santana's shoulder and her eyes were closed.

"Are you asleep?" Santana asked, whispering into her hair.

"No," Brittany replied quietly, squeezing her eyes shut tighter. Santana looked down at her, clearly waiting for further explanation.

"…then what _are_ you doing?" she prompted when no explanation came.

"Wishing the zombies would go away and not hurt anyone else," she said, "now sshhh." Santana looked up and locked eyes with Puck, and then Artie, in a shared "what the fuck is going on?" glance. Artie shrugged, expressing the "it's Brittany, what do you want?" that everyone was thinking. Santana rolled her eyes and leaned back into her seat.

Mike and Tina, for their part, were sitting off in the distance, arms and legs entwined so that it was almost hard to tell where one ended and the other began. Tina was still shaken from the earlier attack of the Infected and Mike was doing his best to calm her down, but all he could think to do was just hold her tight until she stopped shaking. He couldn't force himself to spout false hope or niceties as many of the others were doing; he didn't want to lie and he wasn't sure he believed all the declarations of hope and survival the others seemed to be clinging to. So he said nothing. He said nothing and he held Tina close because she needed it, but also because he needed it just as much.

Blaine and Kurt stood off in the shadows; Kurt observing the others, Blaine observing Kurt.

"They're scared," Kurt mumbled, turning to Blaine, who he found to be standing far closer than he'd expected. Not that he minded.

"So are you," Blaine pointed out, taking Kurt's hand and pulling him even closer, removing what little distance remained between the two. "Are you ok?" Kurt looked at Blaine, eyes wide and betraying the various emotions he'd been trying desperately to curtail the past few hours. Blaine never broke his gaze, holding eye contact and smiling in a way that told Kurt everything would be okay.

"Yeah," Kurt whispered, suddenly breathless, "yeah I'm fine."

"You sure?" Blaine asked, raising his hand and resting it gently on Kurt's cheek. Kurt nodded and closed his eyes at the comforting warmth emanating from Blaine's hand. "Good," Blaine breathed, face so close to Kurt's that his breath tickled Kurt's skin. Kurt's eyes fluttered open and met with Blaine's, whose stare was suddenly different. There was an undeniable _want_ in Blaine's stare and Kurt couldn't stop himself, not when either of them could die at any moment. He lent forward, no more than a fraction of an inch, and pressed his lips to Blaine's. Blaine was still for a moment, but then kissed back, pulling away after a moment and resting his forehead on Kurt's. "What was that?" he asked, a laugh evident in his voice. Kurt shrugged.

"Hey, the world is ending, gotta live in the moment," he replied, a smile spreading across his face. Blaine, too, smiled, laughed a little, pressed another kiss against Kurt's lips, and then pulled back, lacing his fingers through Kurt's.

Across the room Mercedes nudged Quinn, pointing towards the couple in the shadows. Artie nudged Puck, nodding his head towards the two, Tina and Mike smiled at the boys and then each other. Even Finn and Rachel noticed Blaine and Kurt, small figures in the reflection on the glass, moving together.

They all milled around the cafeteria for a bit until finally Finn addressed the group.

"The sun's coming up," he said to no one in particular, but loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"And the rain stopped a while ago, too," Mercedes added, looking towards the wet but clear horizon visible through the windows.

"We should get out of here," Kurt added, finishing the thought that no one wanted to be the one to voice. As badly as they wanted to get back to Lima, as horrible as they felt just _sitting_ there, none of them really wanted to venture out into the open again. Slowly, however, they each nodded their assent and began to gather by the back doors to the cafeteria, the ones that opened not back into the desolate school but onto the barren and menacing landscape ahead.

When, finally, the supplies were re-gathered and everyone found their way to the doors Brittany looked at each of them, puzzled.

"Wait," she said, eyebrows knit, "where's Sam?"

She was right, of course. Sam wasn't standing by the doors. Instead he remained where he'd been sitting since entering the cafeteria. His head was in his hands and he muttered, almost too quietly, that he wasn't going with them.

"What'd he say?" Mike asked, looking to the others.

"I said I'm not going with you," Sam repeated, louder, clearer. He lifted his head and looked to the group. His voice was flat, emotionless, as he added "I…I think I'm infected."

The effect of the word was instantaneous. The entire group clattered towards Sam, each voicing their disbelief and their confusion and various voices vehemently demanding that Sam continue with them. Sam jumped back from the group, threw up his hand in an attempt to keep the crowd at bay. They stopped in their tracks, slowly grew silent.

"Wh-when?" Finn asked, not sure how to respond to the situation.

"In the woods. I, I dunno, I thought I heard something, off in the distance, and I stopped to listen, to see if I could hear anything. I don't know why I did it; maybe I thought it was someone who could help? Anyway, whatever, it's not important _why_ anymore." He paused, clearing his throat and gaining control of himself. His eyes traced down to the inside of his left arm, which he'd been holding almost continuously since entering the High School. There, just under the cuff of his shirt, was a deep crimson gorge in his arm. How any of them had missed the steady flow of blood from his arm onto his now-soaked shirt was incredible, and they each felt horrible for not noticing earlier.

"Sam," Quinn said, tears streaming down her face, falling steadily from her eyes. She didn't bother to wipe them away. "Sam, _no_." He looked up, met eyes with her, apologized without words. _I love you_ he mouthed, before sitting down again.

"You have to go, guys, you have to leave me here." No one moved for what seemed like ages before, finally, they turned to go. As they reached the double doors and pushed them open, greeted by the steadily-lighter sky, they turned back one last time, though no one spoke. They pushed forward, out into the yard, and walked for a minute before, finally, Santana spoke.

"Hold up," she said, voice quiet but firm. Everyone stopped and turned to her. "Give me that," she said, grabbing the gun from Mike, who'd been chosen to carry it for now.

"Woah, hey, Santana, what are you doing?" Finn asked, pushing through the group until he was face to face with her.

"What I have to," she replied. "You lot keep walking, I'll catch up." She said.

"You're not going anywhere alone," Kurt said.

"I'll go with her," Mike said, guessing what Santana planned and knowing she would need someone with her after. "You guys go on," he added, pushing Finn gently in the direction opposite from the cafeteria. He nodded and guided the others off.

"You don't have to come," Santana said once the others were out of earshot.

"You can't be running around alone," Mike replied as he started following Santana back.

A few minutes later, the school growing steadily smaller behind them, the group was stopped in their tracks as a single gunshot rang out through the still Ohio air. Quinn let out a strangled sob and collapsed into Finn's arms. They decided to wait there for Santana and Mike.

Once back with the others the greeting Santana received was not a warm one.

* * *

_Author's note: hey guys! Ok, I'm putting this here because I know at least one person is going to think I killed Sam because I ship Klaine/Blurt. That's totally not true. Not at all. Zero percent true. I killed off Sam because it fit the story. I'd also like to preemptively reply to the inevitable "OMG YOU KILLED SOMEONE" comments; it's a story about a zombie apocalypse, there are going to be casualties. I don't like it any more than you do. Don't hate._


	5. Chapter 5: Fallout

**Chapter 5: Fallout**

Santana and Mike walked silently, the crunch of their shoes on the cold ground sounding, heralding their return. As soon as they were within a few yards Quinn lunged towards them. Finn and Blaine quickly intercepted her, but she struggled and shouted.

"No! You killed him! _You bitch you killed him!"_ Tears streamed down her face as she screamed and struggled, shouting for the boys to let her go, cursing at Santana, screaming out her anguish. No one said anything. They let her fight, let her get it all out. When finally she fell silent, her voice shredded and weak, Blaine and Finn released her.

"C'mon, we can't stay out here," Mercedes said quietly, pulling Quinn into her and along onto the road.

"I had to do it," Santana said quietly. Mike nodded.

"We know," Finn added, reaching to take the gun. Santana clung to it, unwilling to relinquish it just yet, as if by releasing the gun she was admitting that she had shot her friend. She turned to Finn with a blank look on her face. She needed the gun. She needed to hold it just a little longer, just until she believed what she said – that there was no other choice. Finn relaxed his hand, removing it from the gun.

Then there was silence. Long, echoing silence. The group kept together better than before, careful not to let anyone fall behind or ahead. They couldn't lose anyone else. They couldn't. Artie, whose wheelchair had been left behind when the Infected attacked, was passed between those strong enough to carry him. The road shone in the early morning sun, the leaves of the trees shimmered with light, and the ground beneath their feet crunched, crumbled, and sank with the damp residue of the storm.

There was nothing. There was, in fact, a lot of nothing. Space. The landscape transitioned between open farmland and dense, dead woods. There were no cars, no more buildings, no signs of life at all. The air was still and thick as the left-over water hung around them, dampening their breaths and their brows.

And it was silent. No birds chirping, no creatures skittering across the asphalt, no bugs buzzing in the air. It was as if they were the only living things remaining on the entire planet. The empty branches of the trees twisted in sharp angles and sharp points, taunting them, threatening them. No one spoke because no one knew what to say.

Quinn was a mess. Tears ran down her face faster than she could wipe them away, not that she was trying. Her gaze was distant, vacant, and she wasn't watching where she was going. She had to be led along the path, guided blindly. She no longer cared where she was going, or what she was running from. At first she was angry; at the Infect, at Santana, at the world. The anger, however, quickly gave way to sadness. Overwhelming, soul-encompassing sadness. A year ago she'd had no idea who Sam Evans was and yet here she was, falling to pieces over his sudden disappearance from her life.

Last year, when Quinn had been kicked out of her house and was shuffled between Finn's and Puck's Mercedes had been the one to take her in. The two remained close, bonded indefinitely and intensely, and it was she who found herself dragging Quinn along down the road towards the great abyss and unknown that expanded in front of them. But Mercedes couldn't find the words to make Quinn feel better, couldn't muster any small amount of hope, and so she remained silent, helping her to carry on, and helping to carry her.

Despite the fact that he'd broken up with her last year and was currently dating Rachel, Finn couldn't help but feel that familiar pull towards Quinn. She was hurting and he wanted to comfort her. He wanted to be the one leading her, carrying her, helping her move forward. _He_ wanted to be the one holding her and telling her it would be ok. She was his first love, after all, and that was never going to change. But he couldn't do any of it, not with Rachel so close. And he loved Rachel, he did, but Quinn needed him and he knew that Rachel wouldn't understand. So he said nothing, he did nothing, and he felt far too much.

Rachel knew. Of course Rachel knew. Rachel always knew, somewhere, deep inside, that Finn would always pick Quinn over her. Always. Quinn was prettier, and mom popular and, she had to admit, less annoying and needy. She could feel the distance between them, despite the fact that she currently clung to Finn's arm. She held his hand, but Quinn held his attention and, more importantly, his heart.

After a division of no more than a yard walked Mike, with Puck nearby, carrying Artie on his back. Mike and Puck said nothing, exchanging glances when it was time to switch off, time to shift Artie from one back to the other. Neither spoke, conserving the energy and focusing on the path ahead and the weight – literal and figurative – on their shoulders.

Artie felt horrible. He felt responsible. It was his fault they were moving so slowly, his fault that they were taking so long and, therefore, it was his fault that Sam was infected. And now, now that his wheelchair had been left behind, a casualty of the attack, he was depriving the group of two of their strongest members, two of their protectors. If the Infected attacked now they wouldn't stand a chance, and it would all be because of him. They were all going to die because of him. He was too disgusted with himself to speak – to thank or warn his friends, to tell them the thoughts running through his head, to ask them to leave him and carry on. And so he was silent.

Santana, too, felt guilty. Logically she knew that what she'd done was right, that Sam needed to be…taken care of….before things got out of hand, but that didn't help. She clung to the gun as if it were a security blanket, hoping irrationally that a group of infected would attack so she could kill them, too, and prove to the others that what she'd done had been the right thing to do, that she'd had no choice. She watched Quinn trudge along and knew it was her fault, and not in the normal "I called you out on your bullshit life, deal with it" way. Even with the knowledge that it was necessary Santana couldn't shake the image of Sam's face from her mind, the acceptance, the pleading, the knowledge that he life was over. Santana would see that face for the rest of her life.

Santana was flanked by Tina and Brittany, both watching warily and standing by, waiting for Santana's tough exterior to crack and expose the terror and distraught resting just beneath the surface. They exchanged glances from time to time, but mostly they watched Santana and they watched the road ahead.

Kurt and Blaine finished up the hodgepodge parade of despair. Kurt's eyes traveled over each member, checking one by one, before continuing to scan the area for Infected, glance quickly at Blaine, and repeat the process. Over and over. It was his fault, they'd come for him. If they hadn't come to Dalton they wouldn't be here. Sam wouldn't be dead and they wouldn't be walking through the countryside, utterly alone. Blaine squeezed Kurt's hand from time to time, trying to feel connected. He'd never felt so alienated and out of place. The group was mourning one of their number and were running towards home. But Blaine? Blaine didn't belong. He knew he didn't belong and yet Kurt held some sort of magnetism that Blaine could not deny. And so he continued to follow.

By the time the sun was high in the sky they were all tired. No one had slept well the night before and the trip was starting to take its toll. On top of everything the scenery was so redundant and repetitive that they felt as though they'd made no progress; they were Sisyphus* and Lima was the top of the hill.

"We can't just keep walking," Tina finally said, a sense of hopelessness taking over her words.

"We have to," Kurt said, determination pushing him.

"At some point we have to do something with Artie, we can't carry him forever," Mike added. The others nodded.

"There's a hospital around here somewhere," Blaine said quietly, not wanting to interrupt. "We should be able to make it before dark," he added once the group had turned their attention towards the Warbler.

They stopped but no one spoke.

"We head for the hospital," Finn finally said. "We can get Artie a wheelchair, get some supplies, maybe even set up camp for the night." Again the others nodded. They paused for a moment, not speaking, not moving, and barely breathing. A silent prayer passed between them all – _God, please let the hospital be close. And let the path be clear_.

And so they walked.

And walked.

And walked.

Until finally they saw it – a sign on the side of the road; Hospital, 1m.

And then they ran.

* * *

*_Sysiphus - in Greek mythology Sysiphus was doomed to perpetually roll a gigantic boulder up a hill and whenever it neared the top it would roll back down and he had to start over._


	6. Chapter 6: Hospitals and Heroes

They reached the hospital and found it deserted. Of course. It was becoming more and more apparent that everything around them was deserted. As creepy and foreign as the empty high school had seemed, the empty hospital was even worse. There was no monotone beeping from monitors, no rushed, frantic voices from the ER, no call buttons being pressed, no signs of life anywhere.

Once they'd all entered, Puck barricaded the doors and the made their way deeper into the hospital, searching for somewhere they could burrow in for the night. They quickly decided that the first floor was too easy to get to – while it provided an easy escape, it also left them way too vulnerable should another group of Infected find them. They trudged up the stairs and found a small ward, complete with nurses' station, that seemed just secluded enough to get them through the night. Silently they piled in, again blocking the doorway after the final member had crossed the threshold. Mercedes led Quinn to the first clean looking cot and laid her down. Mike placed Artie on a cot until a new wheelchair could be found, and the others started attempting to get settled for the time being.

Puck walked towards the nurses' station and started rifling through the various medications that were stored there.

"What are you doing?" Finn asked, not sure why Puck was wasting his time on a drug hunt.

"I'm finding something to calm Quinn down, she needs to sleep and she's a mess." Puck's eyes were hard and his words determined. Finn didn't question him again, but turned to Rachel, who was setting up a corner for the two of them.

"Artie, there's a wheelchair back here, man. It's not as nice as your old one, but it's better than carrying you." Puck wheeled the chair from behind the counter. It had TRANSPORT written on the back in white block lettering and the leather of the seat was flaking, but he was right – a chair was a chair. Artie thanked him quietly before returning to his thoughts. Puck then walked to Quinn and offered her some pills. "Take 'em," he urged, "they'll help." Quinn was too distraught to fight, or question, and took them willingly. She was asleep within 20 minutes.

"What did you give her?" Mercedes asked, not sure how she felt about Puck drugging Quinn.

"Just some sleeping pills," Puck replied, more defensive than was strictly necessary. It was the last that anyone spoke for some time.

The night was hardly comfortable, everyone felt guilty, no one slept very much, but they all managed a few hours here and there. Thankfully there were no more disturbances. But something was off. Kurt could feel it, Blaine sensed it, too. Something was _wrong_ and he couldn't quite place it. No, wait, there it was – that's what it was.

The hospital wasn't as silent as everything else. It wasn't as still. That eerie, dead quality they'd found everywhere else was missing. They didn't notice it at first, they were too busy trying to get their stuff together, get Quinn calmed down, and figure out what the fuck they were going to do, but the hospital definitely was _not_ desolate.

Kurt bolted up as a wheel squeaked down the hall from them. Little sounds of movement began emerging from seemingly everywhere.

And then there were footsteps.

Lots of footsteps.

_Hundreds_ of footsteps.

Of course there would be Infected here, they were in a goddamned hospital, where _ELSE_ would Infected go? They must've been asleep, or hunting, or something when they'd arrived.

"We need to leave." Finn said, apparently coming to the same conclusion as Kurt.

"Seconded," Mike said.

"How?" Kurt asked, trying to figure a way out without having to pass where the footsteps were emanating from. "They're getting closer," he whispered from the doorway.

"We run," Puck said. "We can't just sit here and wait for them. We have to try to get away." The others looked at him as though he was insane, there was no way he could be serious.

But he was. He grabbed a baseball bat, not waiting for the others to follow suit, and promptly kicked down the door they'd blockaded the night before.

The Infected were on the other end of the floor, but they heard the clatter as the door crashed against the wall and then off its hinges. The New Directions rushed out of their safe haven as quickly as they could, no longer worried about being silent, as Puck stood by the door, making sure everyone was gone before he followed. Or at least before the others thought he would follow.

Blaine turned around as the turned the corner and headed for the stairs to the emergency exit and say Puck not a few feet behind as he'd expected but still by the door where he'd been at the beginning of this expedition. Their eyes connected briefly and Blaine knew that Puck wasn't coming.

There was no way they were all going to get out without being swarmed by the Infected, no way they were going to get Artie down the stairs, no way they were going to get away, get to Lima, without…without someone staying behind, fighting them off, serving as a distraction.

Puck stood, staring down the hall, watching the Infected limp, and stumble, and drag themselves towards him. He had to sacrifice himself so that the others could be free. The others all needed to make it, had to survive. They all had so much potential, were so vital to everything, but Puck? Puck was a Lima Loser and he knew it. He'd messed up with Quinn, he'd messed up with Rachel, and he was just going to continue to mess up for the rest of his life. But at least this way he knew that he could do _something_, that his life could do some sort of good for the New Directions before he was gone.

As the Infected closed in on him he steadied the bat in his hands. Puck noted how little they even looked human anymore; their eyes were sunken and pitch black, their skin tight and gauntly, their walk pained, their whole demeanor haunted. "Just like in video games," Puck thought, swinging his bat as the first Infected came within reach.

And as he fought, the New Directions fled.


End file.
